The Hero of Samarkand
by MadamaVolpe
Summary: Lady Lisbet is desperate to be part of the Revolution, so her trusty friend the Prince tells her to do a certain quest for a certain obsessed fan for a certain deviant... will there be romance? I wonder...
1. Chapter 1

_Author note: So shoot me. I just **had **to do a fanfic about that yummy deviant. He's such an amazing, twisted, wonderful character. So yes. I made Lisbet a bit meany and quite spoilt in comparison to my Dragon Age girlies, because it suits her. _

_And I got her name Lisbet from...well, me, really. My name is Lisbet. It's French. :)_

_Disclaimer: Only Lady L is mine. Reaver is only mine is my fantasies..._

_And now, sur le spectacle commence! _

* * *

With an entirely unladylike huff, Lady Lisbet Whitehart slammed the sewer door shut and stormed off, muttering darkly under her breath.

How dare that Page turn her away! _She_, daughter of one of the most influential men in Albion! It was scandalous! And her old childhood friend, the Prince, stood by and let it happen!

Lisbet charged past Sir Walter Back angrily, shrugging away his grip as he placed a comforting arm on her shoulder as she stomped away.

"We can't let you help us, Lisbet," the Prince had said, his face full of sympathy.

"And why not?" Lisbet had demanded angrily.

The Prince glanced at Page at then back at Lisbet.

"Lisbet…" he started. "You're too important for us to take you into the revolution. You're an aristocrat, remember. Don't you think you're father would be livid if he knew you were here, talking to the traitors?"

Lisbet put her hands on her hips and glared at both rebels in turn.

"I am not a child. My father makes my decisions, Arthur, as much as Logan makes yours."

The Prince winced at her use of his real name.

She threw her hands up into the air into exasperation.

"But I am so sick and tired of father talking about how I shouldn't follow the 'rebels of Albion' and instead follow like a meek little lamb after Logan. I want passion! I want adventure! I want to overthrow your brother and make Albion better for all!"

Page snorted and Lisbet threw her an tremendously dirty look.

"Why do you want to overthrow Logan so much?" The Prince asked.

Lisbet looked straight at him and saw her best friend from all those years ago. She was embarrassed, she had to admit, to have all those feelings she'd long-ago buried come rushing back.

She smiled, and that smile lit up her face and showed all her deepest feeling for the boy in front of her.

"You were my best friend when I was little, remember? My father and yours would be deep in conversation and we'd sneak off and play 'kick the chicken?"

The Prince smiled at the fond memories.

"I remember."

"I never forgot you, and always stayed loyal. That's partly why I want to help you."

Page then decided to interject.

"What's the other part?"

Lisbet sighed and cast her gaze at the ground, glaring at it as if it had said something distasteful to her.

"I was meant to marry Logan. An arranged marriage, I assure you. Logan, apparently, was thrilled with the idea but I refused. Ten years difference really is too much for me." she paused and her eyes found the Prince's again. "Anyway, as dear Logan once was to me, I want to see the true leader of Albion be seated on the throne. The leader Albion was destined to have."

Lisbet couldn't believe that after such a sincere speech, that infuriating Page still insisted that she couldn't help in the revolution.

"She's too high profile," she had said.

Lisbet let out a cry of fury, startling the guard sleeping on duty nearby. How _dare_ she turn her away like a meddlesome peasant!

The Prince, Avo bless his soul, had whispered in her ear a way for her to become part of the revolution.

"Do quests for the people of Bowerstone. Earn their trust. Do this, and it will help you persuade Page that you're good enough to join the revolution after all."

Honestly! What a load of tosh! Why did she have to prove herself to anyone? She was _Lady Lisbet_ for Avo's sake!

Lisbet groaned and kicked a stone as hard as she could, all thoughts about manners and poise lost in her moment of rage. She felt like she was suffocating with wrath, like she could barely breathe.

_Deep breaths_, she reminded herself. _Deep breaths_.

"Could you be…an adventurer? Could you truly help me?"

Lisbet, gasping, turned towards the voice and was a little surprised to see a young woman standing in a place that had been empty a few seconds before.

"Yes. I'm an adventurer. What do you want?" she snapped, with more ferocity that she'd intended.

The woman stuck out her very pink tongue and tucked her auburn hair behind one ear.

"Well…I have a little job for you to do…" she said and heat stole up her cheeks as she spoke.

Lisbet raised an elegant eyebrow and pursed her lips, intrigued.

"Go on."

The woman blushed.

"Well…um…I want you to get something for me…something of Reaver's. Only because he's sooo hot and sooo dreamy and sooo-"

"No."

The woman blinked, looking startled like a little bird. Her expression was quite amusing, Lisbet thought wryly.

"I'm sorry?"

"So am I."

Lisbet turned on her heel and began to walk away but the woman grabbed hold of the folds on Lisbet's dress.

"Wait! Why won't you help?"

Lisbet whirled around without warning and placed her pistol, Love, on the woman's forehead. A little extreme, I agree, but Lisbet wasn't about to admit this.

"My reasons are none of your business."

She wasn't about to pour her heart out about her love/hate feelings for Reaver to this stranger. She admired the man but also despised him passionately, occasionally in equal measures. Most of the time, hatred won.

"Please! I'll do anything! What do you want in return?" the woman pleaded.

Various thoughts went through Lisbet's mind. She didn't need money, but a generous dose of gold was always healthy. She didn't need fame as she was…

But then it hit her. She _did_ need fame. Or being renowned for helping, anyway.

"If I do this for you, you must promise me to put in a good word to Page about me. Deal?"

The woman nodded enthusiastically. Well, as enthusiastic as she could with a pistol in her face.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed gleefully.

Lisbet rolled her eyes and holstered her pistol in her thigh sheath.

"What's this thing of Reaver's," she spat his name. "you wanted?"

The woman turned beetroot red and fiddled rather irritatingly with a lock of hair.

"Well….I'd like you to get me his…um…underpants. If you please. Used underpants," she said it all in one breath, lightly and then blushed some more.

Lisbet rocked back, utterly and truly dumbfounded. Then she began to laugh. She had a fit of hysterical laughter which was quickly followed by another, hard on the heels of the first.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach as tears poured down her cheeks.

"What? Why are you laughing?"

It was a few minutes before her laughter died down but eventually Lisbet was wiping the tears from her eyes, smiling weakly.

She took a shaky breath.

"Ah, that was funny. You really had me on then. Getting Reaver's underwear! Ha! What a load of tosh!" Lisbet chuckled lightly to herself before she looked properly at the woman's expression. She coughed nervously into her hand.

"You…you weren't serious…were you?"

Truth be told, she dreaded the answer.

The woman nodded her head slowly.

"Do you want to see my house?" she asked suddenly.

Lisbet frowned as her stomach began to tie itself up in a knot. _Oh, this wasn't good_.

"Why would I want to see your house?"

The woman looked at her drolly as if to state the obvious.

"There's a reason it's called The Shrine, you know."

* * *

_Ah, I love Benjamina. She makes me laugh so much. Although...I'd probably do the same. Reaver fan-girls unite!_

_Jusqu'à la prochaine fois, Lady Rebel. _


	2. Curiosity killed the cat

_Ah, and now it's my turn to write about that charming libertine. He's tough!_

_Disclaimer: If I DID own Reaver, I wouldn't be on fanfiction... ;)_

* * *

A string of curses that would make any sailor blush (or, in her case, pirate) burst from Lisbet's lips as she stood outside Reaver's mansion.

It was beautiful, only emphasized by the posters that bore Reaver's name and symbol.

Closing her eyes and breathing deep, Lisbet opened the door.

Almost immediately, a sensual, sultry smell hit her in waves. It smelled like…jasmine. Or lavender.

She cleared her throat and gathered her skirts into her hands, so they wouldn't get in the way if she had to run. But why oh why, hadn't she changed into something more _practical_ before she came?

The interior of Reaver's mansion was immensely lavish and extravagant, much like the owner. There were crystalline chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a large ebony piano was centered to the west of the room. The walls were dripping with portraits of Reaver and one in particular made Lisbet raise her eyebrows.

She moved forward silently, every clack of her heels sounded to her like a gunshot.

_If I were a pair of underpants, where would I be…_

Lisbet ascended the stairs as quietly as she could and turned right down a long corridor. There was a door at the very end and Lisbet guessed, mostly out of desire to get the quest over and done with, that it was the master bedroom.

Soft, gentle music played and Lisbet paused outside, holding her breath. Was Reaver in there? Avo help her if he was…

After many agonizing seconds, Lisbet plucked up the courage to peek around the door.

She let out a long sigh of relief when she saw that it was empty. It bothered her ever-so-slightly, however. Where was Reaver?

Lisbet crept in and without more ado began searching determinedly for his underwear.

Apart from many, _many_ condoms, she found nothing. She'd searched the wardrobes and every drawer in the room. So why wasn't there any underwear?

She sighed and leaned back against a bookshelf, running her hands through her dark waves of hair, the way she did when she was tense.

A deep red book caught her eye and when she peered down at it she saw the words '_Reaver on Reaver_'. Typical. The pirate king _had_ to have a book on himself.

As Lisbet pulled it out, the most peculiar thing happened.

The shelf slid open and before her was a corridor, leading further into the mansion.

_A secret passageway? _

Book in hand, Lisbet licked her lips and valiantly stepped over the small threshold and walked down the steps.

It was very cold, she noted, shivering through the tight bodice of her dress. More paintings were slapped on the walls and Lisbet rolled her eyes at the man's obvious vanity.

When she saw the next room, she screamed.

It was only was could be described as a …a…_pleasure chamber_. Shackles hung from the walls and a ebony cage was suspended from the ceiling. Rabbits and chickens, of all things, ran free. She didn't even want to imagine what _they_ were for.

Wasting no hesitation, she got to work, searching through every drawer for the pirate king's underwear.

When she finally found them, well, they weren't exactly what she'd expected.

They were long, frilly and silky. Soft to the touch. They were a delightful cream colour, with crimson frills and red laces that tied it together.

Lisbet crinkled her little nose and held them up in front of her face. Not too close, of course.

"Wow," she muttered. "The man really is perfect right down to the smallest detail."

"Why thank you, _mon amour_," a smooth voice said.

The underwear flew from her hand as she shrieked and drew Love from its sheath. In her other hand she held her razor-sharp sword, Hate.

She stared up at the charming deviant, hate poisoning her gaze.

The libertine smiled his signature smile and glided forward, tapping his cane as he went. When he was an inch away from her, he raised her face towards his.

"Such a lovely youthful face. No evidence of decay and age at all! How splendid."

At Lisbet's weary expression, he clicked his heels, tipped his hat and bowed.

"Allow me to introduce myself, my dear. Ahem. I am Reaver, world-renowned lover and dapper chappie to boot. Pray tell me, what is your name?"

His emerald eyes flashed attractively when he saw her breasts heave slightly as she took a deep breath.

"My name is…mmm…Benjamina."

Reaver grinned and tapped his cane twice on the stone floor.

"An admirable try my dear, truly. Unfortunately, I know your name." He stepped forward and bent down next to her ear. "Lady Lisbet."

Lisbet gasped and thrust her pistol at his face. What she failed to remember was that the Hero of Skill was standing before her, no less armed with his Dragonstomper.48.

Oops.

Reaver chuckled before drawing his own pistol. He smiled at her down it's barrel. His gaze then traveled to his underwear which lay crumpled at his feet. He sifted through the pile with his cane before bending down, never taking his eyes off her, and picking them up.

"Now why on earth would you want these, hmm?"

Lisbet felt her cheeks flush as she tried to come up with a reasonable answer.

"I…er…I…" was all she got.

Reaver beamed at her. Lisbet glared at him.

"As you wish. Don't tell me. I know anyway, Lady Rebel."

He withdrew his pistol and walked in a circle around her, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

Lisbet stayed perfectly still.

"What am I going to do with you?" he whispered sensually in her ear, making her shudder. His eyes flicked to her perfect cleavage and he smiled once more.

"Please…I…I was just doing a quest…"

Reaver nodded sympathetically. He rested his chin on one hand and propped his arm up with his cane. Still smiling.

"I know, _cherie_, I know. But if you don't want me to tell your _father_ about this or, better yet, tell _Logan_ about your little rebel friends, I suggest that you do something for me."

He was truly threatening her? That was so low that all admiration Lisbet had once held for him evaporated like vapor.

"What is it you'd have me do?" she hissed, chin held high in defiance. Lady Lisbet Whitehart was nothing if not courageous. Although sometimes, it was her downfall. She sensed that this was one of those times.

The edges of Reaver's mouth lifted, along with his eyebrows.

"I, _mon petite fleur_, would have you stay in my house. As a guest of honor, no less, for three months."

Three moths? With _him_?

No way! No revolution was worth that!

But then she thought of the consequences. People would die. Page would die, although she wasn't really bothered about that. Sir Walter Beck would die. The Prince would die…

Lisbet gulped and tried to a great extent to keep her tears at bay. She felt her courage dissolve around her.

"Three months?" she said in a quiet voice.

Reaver laughed quietly.

"No, no. I'm just amusing myself at your wounded expression. Merely two months, my dear. Deal?"

Lisbet closed her eyes and turned her head. She didn't want this…_monster_ to see her weakness. She was doing it for all the other revolutionaries. For the Prince. For Sir Walter beck. For the _revolution_.

"Deal."

* * *

_This chapter was a little short, I agree, but I just wanted to get thr story flowing as quickly as possible. The REAL story begins in Samarkand (duh)_

_Please R and R! :)_

_x_


	3. Waltz of the damned

The next morning, Lisbet sat at the l-o-n-g breakfast table, clad in the skimpy crimson dress Reaver _insisted_ she wore.

She picked at her plate of fruit, spearing strawberries moodily, all-too-aware of the fact that the pirate king was staring at her with a wry grin from across the table.

_He _raised a magnificent golden goblet of wine to his lips and watched her curiously as she played with her food, despite the fact that her mother would've slaughtered her if she'd seen.

"You are a curious little thing, aren't you?" he purred, smirking at the filthy glare she shot at him, as if he'd murdered her kitten.

It was such an unflattering expression for such a youthful face, Reaver noted to himself. And she did have a youthful face. He enjoyed the slight splash of colour across her cheekbones. Ah, she reminded him of why he loved living near Bowerstone. There were so _many_ delightful rich beauties, ready for the taking, all too willing to be ravished by him. It was quite the treat, truly, this smorgasbord of women.

But this woman was different. She hadn't thrown herself at him, for one, begging for his body. In fact, if he remembered correctly, she's threatened to…what was it…ah yes, she'd threatened to 'rip off your danglers with my bare hands' if he dared to sneak into her room. He'd been extremely tempted, but in the end he valued his…royal jewels, shall we say, too much. He hadn't been near a woman that feisty since…

The pirate prince shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories of the old Queen.

"Shut up."

Reaver smirked at her sharp and cutting response. Oh…pursuing her was going to be a treat.

The deviant rose from the table suddenly, hand reaching for his trusty ebony cane. He tapped it once, twice, three times on the floor.

"You know my dear, I think we might go to Samarkand," he announced, rather surprising both Lisbet and himself.

Lisbet cocked her head to one side, brow furrowing. She'd never been to Samarkand. She'd heard the tales, of course, but never actually visited. She'd never been out of Albion, come to mention it. She wondered why.

"Samarkand? Why Samarkand? And why now?"

Reaver literally danced around the room all of a sudden, waltzing with an invisible partner, for no particular reason other than he could. When Lisbet approached to see if he was feeling alright, he caught hold of her and started waltzing, ignoring her protestations. Hand on her waist, Lisbet could feel his hips pressed against hers and she blushed at the feeling of what she _hoped_ was his cane.

"You need to be lighter on your feet, moineau. You dance well, but your shyness gets in the way. If you could just loosen up…" he breathed seductively into her ear, ticking her neck.

To accompany his words, Reaver pressed his body as close to hers as possible, still dancing and spinning around the room.

Lisbet felt her cheeks going red at the feel of him pressed so intimately against her. Her breasts were crushed against his chest and it took all of his willpower not to throw her down and ravish her right there. Because…in all honesty, Reaver thought that waiting heightened the _pleasure_.

"Ah…Reaver…please…" Lisbet muttered without any real enthusiasm, as she liked the feel of him so close to her more than she wanted to admit.

"What is it, dear? Tell Reaver," he whispered into her neck, lips burning into her skin hotly.

Despite herself, Lisbet titled back her head slightly, giving him more access. In all honesty, she had no idea what she was doing. She was a virgin and didn't normally go around throwing herself at men! But what was it about the man that she found…so irresistible?

"Master Reaver! Master Reaver! I-oh!"

Lisbet wrenched her body away from Reaver's breathlessly, blushing painfully when she realized what the servant must think.

Reaver smoothed down his wavy fringe rather obsessively, as was his wont, before smiling warmly at the young servant girl…who Lisbet didn't failed to note was very pretty. And wearing a skimpy maids outfit.

She, regretfully, felt the prickly fist of jealousy unfurl in her stomach at the way Reaver smiled at the girl. What was she _thinking_? She was Lady Lisbet Whitehart, _renowned_ but not falling for any suitor her mother pushed her way. She was cold and sharp, the Ice Princess. And yes she was melting over _him_?

"He's stupid," she said allowed, more to herself than to anyone, to which Reaver shot her a alarmed look and a perfectly raised eyebrow.

"I've got the sleeping drug you got for-"

"Now now, Marissa,. No need to utter those words, my sweet, " Reaver said hurriedly, jumping forward to clamp a gloved hand over her mouth.

He threw a slightly sheepish smile over one shoulder at Lisbet who was trembling in fury as his words sunk in.

She marched across the room towards the grinning libertine and squared her shoulders, not caring that he towered over her and she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

"You were going to drug me into going to Samarkand with you, weren't you?" she demanded, cheeks flushing with anger, as they always did.

Reaver beamed whilst tapping his cane on the ground. He _liked_ Lady Rebel. She was refreshing. A rose amidst the brambles.

"Ah, yes. _That's_ why I was going to drug you. Because…Samarkand. Yes. That's it."

He waited till she realized what he'd really wanted to drug her for and when she didn, her face exploded into a beautiful, adorable crimson shade.

"You sinful, amoral, son of a bitch!" she cried before slapping Reaver right across the face with a resounding _clap!_

Not bothering to glance back, Lisbet stormed from the room, stopping only to retrieve Love and Hate.

She was at the front door, struggling to pull open the weighty thing when he came slithering back.

He hesitated closely beside her and said nothing as he watched her heave with the door, getting more and more frustrated when it refused to open.

Eventually, Lisbet took a step back before leaping at the door and landing two extremely powerful kicks upon it.

It opened with a satisfying creak and with a smug nod, Lisbet pulled it open further and stepped out into the warm sunlight.

"Lisbet…" Lisbet, regardless of her anger at him, paused, sighed, and turned slightly.

"What is it, Reaver? You can't expect me to stay, after learning what you planned to do to me."

Reaver, quick-thinking Reaver, lowered his eyes solemnly to the ground.

"I know. I know. I…I'm so sorry…may you forgive me? Please, I would sell my soul," he crossed his fingers. "if you'd just trust me again. Please?"

Inside he was shouting 'bravo!' and 'well done!' and 'splendid performance!' to himself as his acting.

Lisbet searched his face for any sign that he was faking, but she could find none. The man either was utmost sincere…or he was a damn good actor.

"Fine. You shall have a second chance. But only because I know that you will betray the rebels, as you call them, to Logan if I don't."

Reaver stepped aside and she reluctantly reentered the Mansion, grimacing when Reaver's hand snaked around her waist.

She elbowed his sharply in the ribs.

"I have only one rule; no touching."

Reaver smiled and planted his lips softly against the soft skin of her neck. She really was quite addictive.

And the oddest thing.

"But then what would be the point of being my houseguest, hmm?"

"Let's just move on."

"To Samarkand, then!"

Reaver tapped his cane before disappearing to pack his belongings, leaving Lisbet to wonder just what in Avo's name she had done to deserve being stuck with _him_.

"What have I got myself into?" she said quietly to herself.

"Oh, and Lisbet, don't forget to pack your lacy underwear, you look good enough to eat in it," Reaver called from upstairs.

_Oh, boy. _


	4. Shoe lover

_Disclaimer: Reaver is only mine ion my dreams... ;)_

* * *

"No," Lisbet said firmly and she stamped on the ground to emphasize her point. The charismatic tyrant tried to hide the smile at the young woman's determination and outright refusal. She was such an interesting change to all the other females (not to mention males) who were normally in his presence. The ones who constantly begged for his touch, or pestered to be in his bed.

"_Yes_," Reaver said, just as firmly.

The stubborn young woman angrily blew her fringe upwards, as her cheeks reddened ever-so-slightly from her anger.

"Reaver, there is no way on this earth that I'm going near that glowing blue orb. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to touch things like that?"

Reaver was losing his patient with the stubborn young woman, even though she reminded himself of his more boisterous days, when he was the pirate King.

"She did, actually. But then I had quite an eventful run-in with a Hero, and then a blind sorceress and both of them fervently told me how safe these little orbs are. So here I am, naturally," he said with utmost sincerity.

Lisbet stared at him.

"I never know when you're joking and when you're being serious," she mumbled, shaking her head.

Reaver chuckled softly and his right hand gently traced his tiny black heart-shaped tattoo.

"Neither do I, mon amour, neither do I."

He suddenly clapped his hands together with a devilish smile. "And so, now we use the cullis gate to quicken our journey to Samarkand. Are you ready, Lady Rebel?" He held out one gloved hand to her, green eyes watching her expectantly.

Swallowing away the lump in her throat, she clasped his hand tight in hers.

Reaver was, regrettably, pleasantly surprised at how nice her hand felt in his. It was something he'd never done before, holding hands, except with _her_. The feeling was so alien to him it made his cheeks subtly flush a dear shade of primrose.

But then he cursed himself and the magic was broken. He refused to let _her_ creep back into his thoughts. That was one skeleton he was not prepared to let out of the closet.

Looking down at Lisbet, Reaver was dismayed at how much she looked like _her_. She had the same feline-shaped eyes and Cupid 's bow mouth.

Not that that would change his feelings for her. He was looking for a feisty bed partner, nothing more. Yeah, he kept telling himself that.

"Reaver? Are you alright, or are you stunned by my bedazzling beauty?"

Her voice shook him from his inner turmoil and a coy smile returned to his lips.

"Take your clothes off, my dear, and _then_ I shall be stunned at your bedazzling beauty."

Lisbet furrowed her brow and pouted in the way she always did when she was irritated.

"You are _infuriating_!" she cried, throwing both hands, including the one holding Reaver's, into the air in exasperation.

Reaver rested his cheek softly against hers, bending down to her level, much to her annoyance. He closed his eyes for a moment and let her sweet scent permeate his senses. She smelled like _her_, too…

But he shook his head to banish those thoughts.

"Why thank you, sweet thing. You are _quite_ the charmer, you see," he purred.

Lisbet gently pushed Reaver aside but her hand found his again and she squeezed it with a friendly but tad reluctant smile. Reaver stared down at their entwined hands and noted the peculiar warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was oddly pleasant. He didn't like it.

He frowned to himself and taped his cane thoughtfully.

"What's the matter, Reaver? You have such an unflattering expression for such a youthful, carefree face," Lisbet said, her expression seeming to be one of worry. Reaver was very curious as to why she seemed to care so much, when she'd been so cold before. Maybe she was warming up to him. It was a nice thought. Pity it was highly unlikely.

"Ah-nothing, my dear. All fine and dandy, I assure you." He cleared his throat. "Now, are you ready to use the cullis gate, hmm?"

Lisbet rolled her grey/blue eyes.

"I was ready the last time you asked, _my dear_," she explained.

"Ooh, so fiery! I like it! Come come, then, my little song-bird, take my arm and follow me to Samarkand," Reaver smirked, offering her his arm. She walked smartly past hi and laughed to herself as he attempted to mask his shock.

Lisbet tugged her weighty suitcase towards the glittering blue orb, cheeks growing a delightful shade of pink as she gasped. The way she panted made Reaver imagine what she'd sound like in his bed, crying out…

He watched her, amused, leaning on his cane, as she desperately pulled and yanked her suitcase and he had to admire the girl for her determination.

"What on earth have you got in _there_?" he asked, tapping his toes with a coy grin. Lisbet glared at him. Ah, so it was back to icy remarks and cold glares, Reaver thought, Oh well, it only made the pursuit more interesting.

"Shoes," came her reply.

"_Shoes_? Did you say _shoes_?"

"Yes."

"In Avo's name, why do you need so many shoes?"

Lisbet flipped back her dark hair with her hands and blew air out of the side of her mouth.

"It's always a fashion parade, Reaver, you should know that. Or maybe not, because you're a man and you don't care a whit for fashion," Lisbet taunted, knowing all-too-well that the man was as fashion conscious as they came.

Reaver gasped and feigned mock-horror, clasping his heart with one gloved hand.

"My lady! You offend me!" He lowered his hand and clicked his heels together for good measure. "In all honesty, however, you are most certainly incorrect. Why do you think they sell clothes designed by myself? Because people want to look like their fashion icon of course! And as for the shoes…I have a secret wardrobe entirely dedicated to shoes, where I pick my favourites that day to grace my feet." He nodes smugly.

With that little revelation over, Lisbet raised her eyebrows and tried to smother her giggles. The Pirate King…had a secret shoe fetish? Reaver really was a weird man.

"Well that was slightly more Reaver than I bargained for, but hey, the moment's over and now we can go to Samarkand," Lisbet said aloud but she was talking to herself as Reaver was muttering to himself about the splendid-ness of Samarkandian leather.

She waved her hand an inch in front of his face but he grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. She drew back her hands, eyes narrowed.

"You're of course right, darling. Here, _I'll_ take your suitcase. No, no! No fussing, Lady Rebel, I am the strong man here after all." At that, Lisbet rolled her eyes again and this caused the libertine to chuckle. "Hold onto my arm, my dear, unless you want to be left in limbo."

Lisbet made a grab for his arm and as soon as she came into contact, she was enveloped in a dazzling blue light and hurled forward. She landed on a pile of what she assumed were clothes and lay there for a moment, too nauseous and stunned to move.

"As much as I like you nestled between my legs, I prefer to kiss a girl before consummating our relationship. Oh, who am I kidding? You can stay there for as long as you like, my dear!"

Lisbet scrambled up off Reaver, blushing furiously. She looked around at the oddly exotic landscape and winced at the merciless heat. She wafted her face.

"Are we in Samarkand?"

Reaver by this point has picked himself up dusted himself down and was adjusting his top hat. He looked at her drolly.

"Yes darling. I suggest you strip off your heavy dress so you can stand the heat. I know, I'll help you!" He exclaimed, nimble fingers outstretched and eager.

It was going to be a _long_ journey.

* * *

_Oh god, Reaver is soooo OC-ish! I'll try to stop that next time. Please R and R! x_

_Toodles!_


	5. Dolls of desire

Author Note: Yep. I agree. My Reaver is a sissy. Totally and unbelievably. Aw well. On with the show!

_Disclaimer: A certain smexy deviant is holding me at gun point with a certain Dragonstomper.48 so, unfortunately, I'm FORCED to say that I don't own Fable. Or Reaver. *wink wink*_

* * *

The Prince smashed the thief against the wall, face inches away from his own. The man's eyes looked fearfully at the image of fury.

"_Where is she_?" he demanded.

It was extremely rare the brutal side of the Prince came out but this time, he felt it was appropriate. He had completely and utterly lost his cool, he knew, but it didn't really matter. Just this once, he could allow himself to lose it. Just this once.

He just couldn't believe he'd been so _stupid_! He'd sent a beautiful young woman, an aristocrat no less, to complete quests for strangers. What if some man had taken a liking to her? What then?

"I doesn't know! I swears I don't!" the man pitifully whimpered. In response, the Prince whipped out his Heroic sword, Stab-Stab, and pressed it as hard as he could to the man's neck without actually slitting his throat.

"You liar! Tell me where she is right now. Lady Lisbet Whitehart. _Tell me_," he growled menacingly.

He pressed the tip of his blade into the man's soft flesh for emphasis, leaving a small but very painful cut.

"I _told_ ya! I doesn't know!"

The Prince let the smallest of smiles twist his lips.

"Well then. There will be one less thief in the world, won't there?"

"Excuse me? Did you say Lady Lisbet? Whitehart?"

With a sigh, the Prince let go of the thief who fell on his face before stumbling up and running away as fast as he could. The Prince watched his go but did not pursue him.

"Yes, I did. What of it?"

The woman who spoke was quite pretty, not that the Prince cared, with long mahogany-coloured hair that was pulled into an attractive bun. She fiddled with the folds on her dress nervously.

"Well, I…I hired a girl…an adventurer. She said her name was Lisbet. She was quite pretty; pale skin, blue eyes, dark brown hair…"

The Prince was nodding. Yes, it was her. She's always been the Snow-White to his Prince Charming.

"Yes, that's her. Where is she?" he asked, voice taut.

The woman blushed crimson and averted her gaze.

"I sent her a quest to…um…well…"

Ugh. If Lisbet had been subjected the girl's inability to finish a sentence, she wouldn't have been happy. And an unhappy Lisbet was something most definitely to fear. Most, _most_ definitely. A bit like his Mother, when it'd been bath-time and he'd tried to hide. Bad memories.

"Yessss?"

"Do you want to see my house?"

The Prince's eyebrows raised and he couldn't help the snort that burst from his lips. Was the girl crazy?

"What? We were just talking about Lisbet and then you…did you just ask me into your _house_?"

"There's a reason it's called The Shrine, you know."

The Prince stormed through Reaver's mansion, leaving no room safe and unsearched. He tore down the many paintings and ripped open cushions. They had to be _some clue_ as to her whereabouts. He kicked down the kitchen door but found nothing apart from a spiteful letter addressed to Reaver, which he tucked away for later use.

"Reaver!" he roared, trying to keep a reign on his rising hysteria. If the monster had touched her…It wasn't worth thinking about. If he found out that that _monster_ had infected her with his…his _corruption_…by Avo, the Prince would tear his apart with his own hands. Friend of his Mother or no.

Torturous images of Lisbet burned in his mind. Lisbet, sat on Reaver's lap, arms curled around his neck. Lisbet, on her knees, begging for mercy…

"Reaver, you slimy bastard! Where is she?"

The was no 'Coo-ey, Princey! My, my, you're looking _fine_ today!' or 'You've actually _blessed_ me with your presence? I'm honoured!' or even that insufferable _tap-tap_ of his cane. There was nothing. It was like all the inhabitants were dead…

No. He shook his head. No. It would not happen.

He took the stairs two at a time and slammed into Reaver's bedroom. A thorough search of the room revealed nothing but condoms. Many. _Many_. The Prince only hoped that they hadn't been used _recently_. Thank Avo, however, the bed was neat as a pin, no sign of recent use, for whatever reason. That alone made him feel the slightest, miniscule bit better.

But where was Lisbet? He leaned against the wall and then slid down it, crossing his long legs.

It was utterly hopeless. She was gone. It was as much her safety he was worried about because he knew how much Reaver cherished his bed mates. It was her personality. She was with Reaver, the most charming scoundrel known to man. The Prince knew how enrapturing the man was as he himself had felt the pull, even though he was not that way inclined. The was no way she would reject the deviant's advances, which would come, as she was nubile at the very least.

The Prince would only wish that she would resist his charms for as long as she could until the prince came to save her. But he knew that she could not last forever and sometime, she would succumb to the libertine. And if, _when_, she did; all would be lost. Her pureness, her innocence would all be destroyed. She'd be another one of Reaver's…_puppets_. Dolls of desire. Sure, she might be Reaver's favourite for a while, but one day he'd grow bored of her and toss her aside like the many others.

Over his dead body.

A slightly yellowed piece of parchment caught his eye suddenly and he wondered how he'd missed it. It was sticking out of a book named _Reaver on Reaver_. After a l-o-n-g session of eye-rolling, the Prince raised it to his face and began to read.

He read it a second time, and then a third to be _sure_. To hear her voice as she wrote the words.

Then he was gone, leaving the parchment on the ground.

_Arthur,_

_Me. Reaver. Samarkand. Find me._

_L x_

* * *

_Bam-bam-baaaaam! Ooooh, what next? Will Lisbet and her Prince be reunited? Will Lisbet **finally** join the Revolution? Or will she succomb to Mr. R's charms? Stay tuned! _

_Seriously though, please R and R. Your comments make my want to write! If you have any suggestions, too, they would be gratefully appreciated. And I'm sorry it's such a short chapter, I just needed this one over and done with to kept back to the juicy stuff. _(")_ - (that's a penguin)_

_Yours Faithfully,_

_Lisbet. Unfortunately, not the Lisbet who gets the Prince **and** Reaver. Bitch. How unfair is that? :P_

_*hugs*_


	6. Revelation

_(A/N) Bonjour, reader! Are you enjoying the ride so far? If yes, then please review, I do so love getting your comments. And if not...then what's wrong with you? Just kidding. :) Hope you enjoy._

_Disclaimer: Yep, Reaver is right here, in my house, on my bed, with roses in his mouth. And I just thought I'd come on fanfiction to tell you guys. But seriously, Fable's not mine. Or Reaver. Well, that's what **he** says..._

* * *

After what seemed like an eternity of mindless bickering and petty squabbling, the duo trailed off into what seemed to be a glorious silence.

In the distance, Lisbet squinted at what looked like a tavern. Thank Avo, a tavern! A tavern could save her right now. A tavern could provide her with a cool bath, a hot meal and a bed to sleep in. Admittedly, she was used to swan's down pillows and satin sheets that smelt like lavender but hey-ho, she wasn't going to complain.

"Is that a tavern?" she guessed half-heartedly, merely for the sake of saying something. She didn't much care for silence, and always wanted to fill them. In fact, she had a habit of it. At her grandmother's funeral when there were two minutes of silence, she kept yelling 'O-o-oil in the road!' and 'Yah-yah-yah' and even 'Oi, grandma, get back here you dozy bugger!' Much to her mother's horror. She didn't really know why on earth she'd said it. She was like that, grieving in _weird_ ways.

Reaver looked at her drolly before slow-clapping.

"_No_, dear, it's merely a rock. We should sit on it and pretend to drink beer!"

Lisbet kicked a stone and glared at the ground, pretending it was Reaver's face. And every time she kicked a stone, she imagined she was kicking Reaver oh-so-fabulous balls. Hehe. The thought made a smile decorate her lovely red lips.

When they got to the tavern, which Lisbet fell about laughing when she saw it was called 'The Cock and the Doodle', they opened the door and waltzed inside.

Almost immediately, the bitter stench of sweaty men mixed with alcohol hit Lisbet and she gagged dramatically. Reaver wrinkled up his perfect nose and coughed politely into his gloved hand. Good god, it smelled like a barn inside. But he liked that. The thought of sweaty men…ooh, it sent a shiver running down his spine.

He, leaving Lisbet to stand in a corner with her skirts in her hands lest she dirty them, sashayed (yes, _sashayed_) to the bar and tapped his cane once, twice, thrice on the bell. A youngish woman with coffee coloured skin and a messy bun of black hair nodded at him with tired eyes.

"What can I do for ya?"

Reaver leaned back a little from the woman who he noticed a particularly nasty smell came off. He, with the little humanity he had in him, was considerate enough not to hold his nose and/or gag at the scent of her. It made Lisbet's sweet rosy scent almost appealing. And Reaver _never_ liked sweet things.

"I would like a room for me and my…" he glanced at the aristocrat who had gathered quite a crowd of rude and lustful men. "partner, if you would be so kind," he purred, throwing down a generous fifty gold pieces which he was sure was more than enough for her hospitality. It was no better than a hovel, after all.

The woman eyed him up and down and Reaver could only squirm under her fierce gaze which made his seem like a loving glance.

She tapped the folded newspaper next to her with a disgusted expression.

"Yeah, sorry about that, but you're not getting a room. Or a drink, even. You and your pretty little girlfriend can just scamper out of her and you can take your lovemaking elsewhere."

From shock, disgust, and her comment, a startled laugh-snort came from Reaver as his eyebrows almost shot off his face.

"My dear woman! Why would you deny yourself my dazzling presence?" he said, not bothering to correct her that Lisbet was his 'girlfriend'. It was quite a wistful thought, one that Reaver could not wait to make a reality.

She lifted the newspaper which was named 'The Albion Shouter' and passed it over. Reaver unfolded it and within a second he was cursing and tapping his cane angrily.

Because on that paper screamed the title '_Deviant Entrepreneur kidnaps Lady!_' with his and Lisbet's pictures below. According to the paper, Lisbet had been doing a simple mission before being held at gunpoint and kidnapped by the 'charming scoundrel' as they called him. Ugh. That was not going to look good on a résumé.

He put the paper back down, hand reaching for the reassurance of his pistol. His gun, I mean, not…well…

"Very well. Just so you know, this paper is a load of tosh and utterly not true," he said.

The woman shrugged and Reaver shot a glance at Lisbet who was wielding her sword, Love, was it? Anyway, she was swinging it dangerously close to one man whilst simultaneously shouting 'No! I will not join you in your bed!' The girl was causing quite a commotion and Reaver guessed that he had to get her out before she lobbed off one of the horny man's heads.

He sighed.

"Yeah, I believe ya, but it will drive away customers and it's every woman for herself, right?"

Reaver let himself smile at the woman.

"Right." He waved a hand towards Lisbet. "Come on, darling. Time to elope once more and find a place worthy of our love."

Lisbet kicked a man in the chest before standing on him for good measure and hissed "Never touch me there _again_."

Reaver grinned at the poor man and wondered where on earth he'd touched her to get such a reaction. Oh, the girl was so...so deliciously feisty. Taming her was going to be…_heaven_.

On the way out, Reaver glanced back at the woman before snaking his arm around Lisbet's skinny waist. For his image, he insisted to himself. Purely for his image. Being known as a kidnapper wasn't going to help him at all so he might as well try and turn it into a twisted love story. The people of Albion were suckers for a love story.

They walked on for a while and surpassingly, Lisbet didn't remove Reaver's hand from her waist. His warm body near hers made her feel secure. Safe, somehow. Not that she'd admit that, of course.

Reaver, on the other hand, was gazing at the stars whilst running his fingers seductively up and down Lisbet's waist, playing the innocent. It was getting quite dark and there wasn't another tavern for miles. The two would have to 'slum it', as the commoners in Bowerstone would say. He _hated_ slumming it. But as he glance slid to Lisbet's chest, he thought that a little nighttime activity in the forest would make staying outside…much more _enjoyable. _

He reluctantly left Lisbet and began to pick up a few sticks which he then proceeded to set on fire, using his gorgeous ivory lighter. Lisbet watched him, noticing how the light danced prettily off his sculpted features.

He looked up at her and beamed.

"You have that backpack I gave you, I presume?" he asked. Lisbet nodded and shrugged it off her shoulder.

"Yep."

"Take the two bedrolls out and unfold them, if you'd be so kind."

Lisbet obediently did as he asked, shocking both herself and the deviant, who was watching her suspiciously as he snapped twigs to add to the inferno. She rolled them out before jumping on one and pulling the spare blanket over her.

Reaver slithered over where his was before moving it as close to hers and possible and lying on his side, facing her.

"Are you cold, dearest?"

Lisbet gave an over-exaggerated shiver the way she always did when her mother asked if she was sick and she's cough. It was an automatic reaction.

"A little," she admitted. It was, this time, true. The heart-drenched planes of Samarkand soon melted away and became dangerously cold when the sun set.

"I know a way to get warmer…"

"You don't say."

"Well, you're a virgin, naturally, so I can show you the ropes. Well, _my_ rope," he chuckled to himself at his joke. Lisbet's mouth went slack with shock.

"First of all, what do you mean; _naturally_?"

"You're so disgusted when I touch you, so you've clearly never known a pleasurable touch _and_ I can smell purity a mile away," the thief said, tapping the side of his nose. Lisbet, trying to disguise her hurt, turned her back on him. Reaver merely snuggled up behind her.

"As a matter of fact, you're wrong."

Reaver laughed into her neck, making her shiver. It was quite a pleasant feeling, she thought.

"Oh? You're such a sweet but awful liar."

He stroked her hair but she slapped his hand away with a furious glower.

"So that's a no to my idea, then?"

"Yes."

"What about spooning-"

"No spooning!"

Regardless, Reaver cuddled up to her away, pressing his body hard against the length of hers. Her sweet smell permeated his senses and frankly, it aroused him. Lisbet squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that the thing sticking into her was his Dragonstomper.48. But hadn't he taken it off before…?

Curled up like lovers, the two drifted off to sleep.

Reaver tossed and turned, caught in the merciless clutches of his nightmare.

He ran towards her-No! he rushed forward just in time to catch her lifeless form in his arms. His eyes ran over her sweet face, her blue/grey eyes open in a mask of horror. He chocked back sobs as he brushed a hand over those beautiful eyes, closing them forever to the world. Bitter tears streamed from his eyes as stomach-churning screams pierced the air.

"Reaver…"

The boy who would come to known as Reaver whipped around but he was surrounded by smoke and fire. There was no one calling his name.

"Reaver…"

The voice came again, that intimate, breathless whisper that sounded like it was inside his skull. He jammed his fingers in his ears to block out the mocking laughter of the Shadow Court as they tore through his dear home.

"Reaver…"

Reaver shook his head. No. the voices weren't real. No!

But they _were_ real. Finished murdering the villagers of Oakvale, the Shadows now turned towards him, arms outstretched, desperate to ease their hunger for young flesh.

He tried to fight, but they were too strong as they wrapped him in their cold, loving embrace. His eyes fell to his love who looked so serene, even in death. She'd been too soft for this world. She didn't deserve to die like that, cut down like a rabid dog.

"I'm sorry!" The cry, so pointless, ripped up his throat and burst from his lips.

"You are no longer the innocent, pure boy known as Lysander. You are _Reaver_, reaper of souls, preserver of youth. And now, it is time to reap yours," the Shadow breathed before wrenching his soul from his body.

Drenched with sweat and panting like a dog, Reaver jolted awake and shot up in his bedroll.

For several agonizing moments, he didn't know where he was. It was only when he saw the sleeping beauty next to him that he remembered. _Ohhhh, Samarkand. Right-right. _

He shook his head, mentally cursing the silly nightmare that always plagued him.

He fumbled for his bottle before taking a long pull from it, eyes searching the planes wearily.

Lisbet sighed in her sleep and rolled over to face him. She seemed more attractive when her mouth was shut and she wasn't giving out glares, he thought wryly.

"Hello, Reaver."

Reaver almost jumped a foot in the air when he heard that solemn, wise voice he despised so much. He chuckled softly despite himself.

"Well, well, Teresa. Long time, no bother."

The faint ghost of a smile flickered across her lips momentarily.

"It's good to see you too, Hero," came her reply.

Reaver winced at the nickname with brought back many unsavory memories of a beautiful, untouchable woman by the name of Sparrow.

"Don't call me that, witch," he snapped.

"I wonder…do you know who that is?" she nodded towards Lisbet.

Reaver shrugged casually, tossing back his glossy fringe.

"Is that a trick question? She's Lisbet Whitehart, I believe."

Teresa really smiled then and the deviant felt somewhat…unnerved.

"You know who she is."

The way she said made Reaver pause for thought, blood freezing in his veins. Surely it wasn't what he thought…

She couldn't be _her_. _She_ had been dead for centuries, his punishment for the sins he'd committed that night. A punishment he'd obediently lived with.

"Haven't we been through this? Lady. Lisbet. Whitehart. Or do you want me to spell it for you?"

In response, Teresa said one word, but that word was enough to force tears to Reaver's eyes and make him grab the sorceress by the neck.

"You liar! How can you lie about a thing like that? You disgusting whore! I'll slit your throat myself!"

Teresa calmly threw the enraged ex-pirate back and held him in place with her unmatched telekinesis. The deviant struggled madly against her magic.

"Look into my eyes, Reaver, and you shall see the truth."

She walked over to him and put both hands either side of his head, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

"How?" he finally asked after an age of silence.

"You have been punished enough, Reaver. You didn't live a single day where you weren't overwhelmed with crushing remorse, and so, the gods have returned her to you."

He looked at Lisbet who looked so much like _her_, but at the same time looked nothing like her. Her features were more cat-line and exotic, whereas _hers_ had been like a china doll. The colour of her eyes was the same, however.

"She's not _her_. _She_ was soft and tender. Gentle and sweet. Lisbet is…fiery. Stubborn. Spirited. The complete opposite to _her_."

Teresa walked over to the sleeping girl and stroked her hair.

"You said it yourself; she was too soft for this world. So she was reborn, reincarnated, into the body of another. Into the body of someone more suited for you. Everyone has their soul-mate, Reaver. She is yours."

He shook his head in disbelief.

"No. they are nothing alike."

"The may have different personalities and different looks, but they share the same soul. At certain times, when you trigger a vague memory of her past life, the her you so cherish will take over."

Lisbet giggled, obviously dreaming.

"But she is not the woman I fell in love with. She is nothing but a vessel to me," he said darkly. Teresa shook her head sadly.

"I'm sad to hear that, Reaver, truly. It's a pity you'd let her looks govern what fate has decreed it meant to be. You'll come round, I think. Farewell, Hero."

With the witch gone, Reaver was free to move again. He tossed his bedroll as far as he could. He didn't want to be near…_her_.

She wasn't his true love. They were complete and utter opposites. But even as eh thought this to himself, he knew that Lisbet had already forged a bond between them. The moment she'd raised her pistol fearlessly to his forehead without hesitation, he'd been enchanted by her.

And frankly, it terrified him. He'd only felt like this once before and that had ended in chaos. No, he would not go down that route again. Love was dangerous. It blinded even the most dutiful of men and turned them into feeling, selfish beings. No. Years he'd spent trying to rise from the ashes, _years!_ He would not lose it all because of some pretty dame who batted her eyelashes at him.

The truth was; she, and she alone, could finally break him. So, he had no choice; soul mate or not.

She had to die.

* * *

_Oooh! I wonder what'll happen next! Haha, jk, I know. :P Had you guessed that Lisbet was **her** reincarnated? I don't really know where that idea sprung from...Ugh. Reaver is totally OC in this. I'll make sure he's more Reaver-diva-ish in the next chapter. _

_Anyways, please read and review! You know you want to... XD_

_Toodle-pip!_


End file.
